What I Fought For
by msllamalover
Summary: A series of oneshots about various characters, on what they fought for in the war. Various ships, canon throughout. Rating for slight language only. Current chapter: Blaise Zabini.
1. Hannah Longbottom

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: The first of a series of one shots, with various characters realising what they fought for. This is the first: Hannah Long bottom (nee Abbott)_

'Mum, where do we go? I can't see a pub anywhere!' The little girl said, her tone anxious, but her eyes excited.

Her mother couldn't see the pub, either. Muggles, had to be.

Over the summer, she had seen similar scenes multiple times. Muggles trying to find their way to the Leaky Cauldron to get to Diagon Alley to buy their school supplies. They could never see it the first time. It didn't look like a pub, from the outside, she supposed that was why. It just looked like an empty shop front, grey and bare. They always looked straight past it.

She smiled to herself, remembering when that beaming child had been her, with her mother, looking for a familiar sort of pub. The sort muggles visited frequently, with big oak doors and their names, hanging from signs outside, irrelevant pictures displayed beneath.

'Looking for the Leaky Cauldron?' She called out to the mother and daughter, her eyes sparkling.

'Yes, could you please direct us to it?' The lady asked politely.

'My dear, you're standing right outside it!' She smiled kindly at them, watching as their bemused faces took in the outside of the pub. 'Come on in, and I'll fix you up a drink before you start your shopping.'

Inside, the pub had changed a great deal in the time Hannah had been landlady. It was bright and friendly, wizards and witches of all ages talking about subjects the muggle newcomers didn't understand.

'Confusing, isn't it? Don't worry, dear, you'll soon pick it up at Hogwarts! Best teachers there, I promise you that. My husband works there, Herbology professor. You'll be meeting him in no time at all!' She told the girl, pushing cups of Pumpkin Juice towards them. The girl spoke for the first time, thanking her for the drink.

'So, do either of you two have names?' She asked as they drank.

'I'm Rebecca Jones, this is my daughter…' Rebecca started.

'Grace! I'm Grace, I'm eleven!' Her daughter beamed.

'Ah, I knew that, Grace. First year, right? Bet it was a right shock for the two of you when your letter came, eh?' She asked. She smiled at the two of them, both clearly so excited.

'You could say that, she hasn't stopped talking about it since that owl arrived!'

'Don't worry, I was exactly the same. My dad was a wizard, I never knew him though, so I didn't know about any of this until I was your age. And if you think this is exciting, just you wait until you first see the castle!' She beamed at the girl.

'Can you do some magic? Oh please do! I can't wait to start learning it! I'm going to read all the books!' Grace started babbling on.

She smiled, amazed at just how much the girl reminded her of Hermione Granger. So ready and hopeful, just waiting to join the new world. She flicked her wand lazily at one of the yellow sunflowers. It turned it's bright head to the girl and flapped its leaves at her in a strange sort of wink. Grace laughed and clapped her hands in delight.

'Oh now look at this, we've been sitting here talking for over an hour! You'll not be getting your shopping done like this, will you?!' She said, shocked.

'Oh, of course! Could you help us get to Diagonal Alley, please Mrs…?' Rebecca said.

'Longbottom. Mrs Longbottom, but please, call me Hannah!' She replied.

'Thank you, Hannah. Which way to Diagonal Alley?'

'I think you want Diagon Alley. Come on, I'll show you in!' she lead them down the corridor through to a tall, brick wall.

'But this is just a wall!' Grace cried, disappointedly. She had clearly been expecting something far greater.

Hannah smiled, and tapped a brick about half way up the wall. Immediately, it sprung to life, opening the door to Diagon Alley. Opening the door to the wizarding world for the very first time for young Grace Jones.

'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!' Grace squealed, throwing her arms around Hannah's middle in her joy. Hannah smiled at Rebecca, patting the top of her head gently.

'That's quite alright, my dear,' She smiled as Grace jumped into her new world. 'Remember, you're always welcome here if you need any help with any of this stuff. Both of you.' Rebecca smiled gratefully, and followed her daughter through the hole in the wall.

Hannah sealed the wall again. She stood for a moment, smiling at it. Yes, she thought to herself. This is what I fought for. I fought so that children like her could know the wonders of our world. It was worth it, everything she had been through. It was worth the looks on their faces that very first time.

Yes, Hannah thought again. This is what I fought for.


	2. Ron Weasley

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: Ron Weasley, because I imagine him to be a great father._

'Hermione, sit down! You shouldn't be doing so much work! Baby Weasley's due in a few weeks, and the healer said…' Ron cautioned his wife.

'Ronald! I know what the Healer said! I was there too when we saw her, but I will NOT stop working, alright?!' Hermione snapped back.

She waddled out the room, clutching a stack of books. She was very heavily pregnant with their second child. There were only a few weeks to go, but she was bigger than last time.

'Daddy, I thought I was Baby Weasley!' Rose tugged on his trouser leg, her fist half stuck in her mouth. Ron smiled down at her. His little daughter was perfect. She had his blue eyes, big and expressive, framed by her mother's long, dark eyelashes. She had all of Hermione's features. Her nose and her curly hair, but she had his colouring. He ruffled her bright red curls and picked her up gently.

'Of course you are, Rosie!' He said, kissing her cheek. 'But you know there's going to be another Baby Weasley soon, don't you?'

'Yes Daddy. Can he be a boy? Please?' She asked, her voice lisping slightly.

Ron laughed. 'I'll see what I can do! Come on, let's go and find your broom stick and you can show me your moves.' He kissed her hair again and set her on the floor. Ron watched her proudly as she skipped away, off to find her beloved toy broom.

'Hermione? Do you want hot chocolate?' Ron called to her.

'Oh Merlin, Ron! You don't need to yell, I'm right here!' She retorted from somewhere behind him. Ron had immediately decided when she was pregnant with Rose that Hermione suited it very much. Her face had more colour, her hair had more shine and her eyes seemed to have that extra sparkle. And she finally managed to eat nearly as much as he did.

It had been seven years since the final battle. Seven long, hard years. There had been rebuilding, grieving and, finally, living. He had married Hermione four years, and they'd had little Rose for two of those years. The years had flown by. Ron didn't think he'd ever be able to see his wife and daughter enough.

Some things never went away. The memories, for one thing. They still haunted him. Hermione's screams at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange's crucio. Seeing Harry in Hagrid's arms. McGonagall's recurring screech still bounced around his mind when all else was silent. Fred lying, unmoving, surrounded by the rest of their crying family.

The wariness, too, had yet to leave them. Him, Hermione and Harry especially. They had to make a conscious effort not to question visitors as they arrived at their respective houses, just in case they were putting them in any danger. Their wands too. They were never without them. At night, they all made sure they were within reach, even Hermione, in the depth of her pregnancy always had it with her. It was a natural thing, now. Ron knew he would be utterly delighted when they could finally leave them downstairs, or just out of reach when they went to bed, not fearing an attack during the night.

'Ronald Weasley! Why have you let her get her all excited? You know it's her bed time now!' Hermione told him off lightly, but he knew her heart wasn't in it. She was carrying Rose awkwardly on her hip, balancing her to the side of her protruding stomach. Ron took her off her and smiled apologetically.

'Come on Rosie girl, bed time!' He said to his daughter, who was clearly struggling to keep her eyes open.

'Oh but Daddy!' She said, her tone pleading.

'No if's or but's young lady! Your fathers let you stay up late enough as it is!' Hermione scalded them both.

'Can I sleep in your bed with you and Mummy tonight?' she asked, looking at her father with those bright eyes he could never resist.

'Okay then, just for tonight!' Ron said, beginning to trek up the stairs.

He pushed the door open lightly, allowing Hermione in first. She settled uncomfortably on the bed, her stomach not properly allowing her to lie in her preferred position. Rose jumped on the bed next to her Mother, lying carefully next to her, before being pulled as close possible by Hermione. She snuggled up to her. Ron watched the two of them for a minute, before conjuring a blanket over the two of them, who were all ready asleep.

Ron slid under the blanket by Hermione. He sat up slightly for a moment. His little family was already so perfect. Hermione, her long curls spread over the pillow, with her arms tightly wrapped around Rose. Rose, her short, fluffy ginger curls resting on her Mother's arm, peaceful in her slumber. They were angels. _His_ perfect angels.

He set his wand on his bedside table, only an arms reach away. He looked over to Hermione's bedside table, expecting to see her wand lying in the familiar spot by which ever book she happened to be reading at the time.

It wasn't there.

He sat up a little more. It wasn't on the dresser or on his small desk. He looked though the open door into the bathroom. He couldn't see it in there either. She must have left it in the living room on top of the stack of books.

Sucking in a deep breath, Ron threw the blanket off him, and padded softly downstairs. He saw Hermione's wand on top of the books, as he had predicted. He put his wand beside hers and jogged back upstairs before he could change his mind.

His wife and daughter had not moved from their adorable position. He lay back down beside them, settling his long arm easily over the two of them.

As he began to fall into dreams he could not help but smile. They had left their wands downstairs. It had taken them seven years to make such a small, but important step.

This is what he had fought for, he knew. A world where he could sleep with his wife and daughter without worrying about anything at all. A world that he trusted to keep them all safe while they slept.

Yes, he thought, it was them that I fought for. This night, and the next night, and the next. So my children won't have to worry about keeping their wands with them when they sleep. So my _Wife_ doesn't have to worry about keeping her wand by her when she sleeps.

He fell asleep with the smile resting on his lips.


	3. George Weasley

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: George Weasley, a hard one to write, I have to admit. I think it worked quite well, but I never find either of the twins very easy to write._

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* * *

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_The bright Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes was unsurprisingly empty. It was midterm, with a war waging on around them. People had more to think about than buying jokes. Nevertheless, one Weasley twin was out front, restocking the already full shelves._

'_Fred? Have we got any more Puking Pastilles? They're selling faster than Veela Love potion!' George called from front of shop. Puking Pastilles were still selling well, an occasional customer too scared to go into work using them as a good excuse._

'_I don't think so, I think the Death Eaters destroyed the stock when they attacked last time.' Fred replied from out back._

'_Oh Merlin, when are those idiots going to give up?' George called back angrily._

'_When we stop them, George. They'll give up when we stop them. Until then, we could just chuck them some canary creams free of charge, give the Order a laugh at least!' Fred grinned._

'_How can you laugh through this? People just don't want jokes, there's a bloody war on!' George joined him out back._

_Fred took hold of his twin's shoulders. 'That's why we're here, my dear brother! People need a laugh!'_

'_That's why we're fighting…'_

'_The light in the darkness, that's us!' Fred grinned, 'That's why we're fighting, and when Harry finally kicks Mouldy out of our lives for good, we'll both still be here, pranking Filch and making everybody forget about it! We're the Weasley twins, that's what we're here for!'_

The shop was covered in layers of dust. Spiders crawled confidently along the surfaces. The bold orange paint was peeling slightly on the back wall. Had it really been that long since he had been here?

He pulled his wand out and muttered a quick 'Scourgify'. Immediately, the dust was gone, the walls were colourful and the windows were clean and clear again. It smelt like it had done before, too.

He wondered about, mindlessly for a great deal of time, before he remembered why he was there. He was reopening. It had been over two years since he'd last been in the shop. Far too long, he had decided, that the world had been without Weasley style laughter. He'd missed it. They all had.

The shelves were still stocked and the store room was full of the new products they had been making before they had been called away. There was enough to last for months. They hadn't had much to do in those bleak months before the climax of the war. Business had been slow. Most of their time was spent designing and creating new products, for the after war euphoria.

He'd never considered he might be opening up shop alone.

It was too quiet. The street outside was bustling, but the shop yearned for laughter, and happiness again.

Was he ready to do this?

No. Probably not, but he needed to. He knew that. They had been sitting at dinner in the Burrow, all of them, and Victoire had been giggling at something Teddy Lupin had whispered to her. The noise of her laughter sounded foreign to him. Like a strange, old friend. He missed it. And so, without telling anybody, he had returned to open up shop for the first time.

Having checked everything was in working order, George flicked his wand at the sign on the door. It now read 'Open'.

Almost immediately, it flew open. A small group of what looked fifth year boys tumbled in, taking in the shop. George couldn't seem to recall them. Did they remember the shop from before?

'Haha! Look at this, we've got to buy a bunch, Filch'll just love 'em!' One of the boys cried out delightedly to his friends, who instantaneously began to laugh.

'Pranking Filch, eh? My favourite past time! Please, take some dung bombs, Filch's favourite! Be sure to tell him they're courtesy of George Weasley, who misses the old bastard greatly!' George grinned. It was a genuine grin, too. He couldn't remember truly grinning like that in a long time.

The boys looked like Christmas had come early. Free dung bombs, with specific instructions to set them off to annoy Filch? Courtesy of George Weasley. _The_ George Weasley!

'Cheers, man! I missed this shop so much!' One of the other boys said, as they paid for their choices. So they _did_ remember. He felt a swell of pride at learning that.

As George chatted to the boys, a steady stream of customers had been looking about the shop. George had forgotten he would have to serve, restock and chat today. The jobs used to be split between the two of them.

A sudden sadness filled him. They were both meant to be doing this together. Laughing. Cheering other people up. Pranking Filch.

But they're weren't.

It was just him. Just George.

'Thanks for re-opening, we'll think of you and Fred as we set these off!' Another one of the boys said as they left the shop.

George was momentarily stunned. Didn't they know it wasn't him and Fred anymore? That there was only _one_ Weasley prankster?

No. There would _always_ be two Weasley pranksters. The two Weasley pranksters who would live on though the jokes and the laughter of their customers for years to come. Maybe that's what the boys had meant.

Maybe that's we fought for? George thought, a small smile playing on his lips.

* * *

Two weeks later, after the term has started again, George receives a howler.

Filch's shouts and abuse continue for well over half an hour, leaving George holding his sides from laughing.

And that's when he knows. _This_ is what they fought for.


	4. Minerva McGonagall

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!A/N: Minerva McGonagall. This went in a different direction to what I had expected. It was one of those times when I just started writing, and my fingers chose the direction instead of me. I hope you like it!A/N TWO: I have a plan for this, sort of, when ever a character comes into my head, I write it down in my plan. So far, there are about eight more. If you want to suggest a character or reason for a chapter of this, please do!_

'Settle down please!' Minerva McGonagall called over the crowded hall, to no effect.

The Great Hall had been rebuilt to stunning effect after the war. The house point meters were tall and proud, all filled with the colours of the respective houses. The enchanted ceiling was bright and sunny that morning, a few fluffy clouds floating past, much to the delight of Lorcan Scamander. In the center of the opposite wall, there was a vast memorial, dedicated to the fallen heroes of the war.

A tear came to Minerva's eye as she thought back to that time, but she choked it back. Casting the sonorous charm, she spoke again. 'Settle down please!'

Immediate silence. 'Thank you. Before you begin eating, I have a message from Mr Filch. He says that if anymore more dung bombs are set off courtesy of Mr George Weasley, he'll be forced to, in his exact words, curse you.' A ripple of laughter went round the hall at Filch's clearly empty threat. Minerva couldn't help but smile at the small cheer that George's name received. 'Let's not drive Mr Filch to that, shall we?'

'Long live dung bombing Filch!' a loud cry came from the Gryffindor table. Laughter erupted again from most of the hall.

'Mr Potter, please do not force me to give you yet another detention!' Minerva replied. He bowed down to her. Ever dramatic, was James Potter. Just like his grandfather. Just like all the Marauders.

It had been almost twenty years since the final battle, and another twenty years since the Marauders, Lily Evans, Alice Goodyear and Frank Longbottom had sat around the Gryffindor table. She remembered it like it was yesterday.

She remembered it all. She remembered their _sorting_. She remembered their first Transfiguration class, and their last. She remembered watching the Marauder's beautiful friendship evolve. She remembered Frank and Alice becoming a couple. She remembered James and Lily becoming a couple, after all those years.

She remembered them leaving. Their last day, Sirius and James going duelling Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy on the eve of their final meal, for insulting Lily. She remembered them joining the order, knowing full well what they were getting into. She remembered the weddings of Frank and Alice, and James and Lily .She remembered them going into hiding. She remembered being informed of the births of Neville and Harry.

She remembered being informed that Frank and Alice had been tortured to insanity. She remembered being informed that James and Lily had been betrayed by Sirius Black. Something inside her twisted slightly as she remembered the pain.

Only it hadn't been Sirius Black. It was Peter Pettigrew. She thought she knew them. They were like her children. They were _her _Gryffindors, and they had needed her. How could she have underestimated Pettigrew so greatly?

A tear escaped her eye, and rolled silently down her thin cheek. Maybe if she had known, if she hadn't overlooked Pettigrew? No. The time for blame was over. Long over. She sat and watched her current Gryffindors. So alike their predecessors, and yet so different.

She saw the usual scattering of red headed Weasleys. But they were not just sat at the Gryffindor table anymore. Molly Weasley, Percy's eldest daughter, sat happily at the Ravenclaw table. Roxanne, Dominique and Louis Weasley sat at the Hufflepuff table, laughing at something Lawrence Flint had said to them.

People didn't keep to their house tables anymore, not all the time. There was still the roaring sense of traditional house pride, of course. It wouldn't have been Hogwarts without that, Minerva knew. But friends sat with friends of different houses now. Hugo Weasley, of Gryffindor, and Daisy Longbottom, of Hufflepuff, sat with their friend, Orion Zabini, at the Slytherin table.

Further down the same table, three Slytherins sat together. Albus Potter, Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy were pouring over a charms textbook, no doubt preparing for a charms test later that day. Lily Potter threw her leg over the bench opposite, moving from her usual place at the Gryffindor table. She began to talk animatedly to Rose, her older cousin.

Minerva wiped away the tear, and smiled. Another picture from a long ago time came to her mind. Sirius and Regulus Black, sitting at opposite tables. Each stole occasional sad glances at the other. They were brothers in nothing but blood. They weren't allowed to be friends, their worlds both so close, yet too far apart. They would have loved to see this.

It was unity. It had taken years. Forty years? No, more than that. Perhaps if the same unity, and happiness, had been so openly expressed back in the school days of herself and Tom Riddle, people would have experienced a far more pleasant lifetime.

This is what I fought for, Minerva thought as she looked out over the tables below. Carl Finnigan winked at her and nudged James Potter in the side, laughing, while Lysander Scamander shook his head slightly, failing to cover his own smirks. Were they the new Marauders?

No, they were different to the Marauders. Every one in the hall was different from those people who had sat in the same places over the years. They were happier, more carefree. They were united. They laughed all the time, but they took their work seriously. Minerva was a strict headmistress, but held a quiet affection for each and every one of them.

And that was what Minerva had fought for. For them, for their happiness, and for their unity.


	5. Remus and Nymphadora Lupin

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!A/N: Remus and Dora Lupin, sharing a slot just because I can. This was not what I intended my next chapter to be, but I was watching the news last night, and there was a story about a teenager getting stabbed for no reason. There's a lot of crap in the world, I know, but this one just affected me so much worse than usual, because it was pretty close to where I live. It makes me feel physically sick to think that things like this are happening in the country I so proudly call home. People think teenagers dont care, but we do. I promise you, we do. This is dedicated to that boy, and to so many others who have unfairly lost their lives over the years, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time._

'Come on, Remus! Order meeting!' Nymphadora Lupin said excitedly, 'We mustn't be late again!'

'Dora, two things. One: We're already late. Two: _You_ aren't going.' Remus told his wife firmly.

Her mouth fell open and her violet eyes grew wide. 'What in the name of Merlin do you mean, I'm not going? Of course I'm going!'

Remus sighed, 'Nymphadora please. You're pregnant. It isn't _safe_ for you anymore!'

'Oh, isn't it? That's odd, I was under the impression it was a _meeting._ Where people _talk_ about bringing down that bastard. _Talking_. That's all, Remus!' She snapped, turning her back to him. Her usual spiky bubblegum pink hair was longer, turning a more fiery red with every word she said.

'Yes, but I don't want you getting stressed out and doing yourself or the baby any harm!' he said, not backing down.

'Anymore so than usual, you mean?! Clumsy Dora. Inelegant Dora. _Stupid_ Dora. Like that, you mean?!' She said angrily, turning back to face Remus, looking at him with fire in her eyes.

'No, Dora, that's not what I meant, you know that…' He said apologetically. 

'Because of course, no one _ever_ expected anything of me. My parents wanted me to be a nice little healer, clear up some of the messes I make. My teachers, holy crap, they never expected _anything_ of me! I told them I wanted to become and Auror and they advised me strongly against it. Even Mad-Eye was surprised when I passed Auror training. And now you. You don't think I can do it either, do you?' She said, her anger seemed to dissipate as she spoke. Her voice took on a sad tone, her hair turning from intense red to periwinkle blue.

'I believe in everything you do, Dora, I love you. But this isn't just about you anymore. I think it's time you stopped with the quest for personal glory.' Remus reasoned softly. He knew better than to fight with her over this.

He hadn't known Dora for long, only a few months. She was loud and awkward, with a knack for cheering people up, making them laugh. She ran into things head on, no regard for planning, or for the rules. She was passionate. Her outer core changed constantly, her eyes, her hair, were as inconsistent as her emotions. Everyday, he learnt of more of her quirks. Everyday, she showed him more of her self. Her oddities, her habits, her ways.

And he loved them. He had never met anyone else like her. She was unique, more unique than he would ever be, he knew. But when he was with her, he was different. He wasn't the same studious, serious man he had been for the past eighteen years. He was like before. He was better than before. With the Marauders, he was the one planning, looking out for everyone else. But with Dora? 

She brought out a different side to him. It was like they balanced each other out. Remus wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe, that's what love was. And it was finally _his turn_. 

'Remus Lupin, this was _never_ about me. You think I put my self through all that shit for _personal glory_?! Because I don't!' She said, her hair still periwinkle blue.

'You … aren't fighting to prove yourself?' He asked, somewhat confused.

'No, of course I'm not. I've never wanted to prove myself, I'm just me, Nymphadora, and that's always been good enough for me. Is that really what you thought?' She shook her head slightly and looked down. 'No, Remus. You really want to know why I'm fighting?'

He nodded.

She took a deep breath. 'You know, I've never told anyone this. Not even my parents know. When I was sixteen, You-Know-Who wasn't back to full form, I can't remember if the Order was around again. I didn't even know about it. I wasn't a sheltered child, not exactly, but I believed in sunshine and happiness. I believed that bad things only happened to bad people, and anything bad that happened good people happened for the greater good. All that fairytale crap. But then, I guess that's why I was in Hufflepuff, right? Not known for our realistic outlook, are we?'

'Anyway, during the summer holidays before sixth year. I'd been into town, about half an hour away from home. There were two muggle kids playing in the park I used to walk through on my way back. It wasn't close to anywhere, especially, there were some houses a few minutes away, but it was fairly isolated.

'I was walking through some trees a few meters away from them when this guy came out of nowhere. He was wearing black robes that covered his face, a death eater I think, from the first war. I didn't know that then, of course, but I didn't have my wand, so I hid. 

'He pulled out his wand and Avada'd one of them, while his friend could just watch. Then,' Dora stifled a sob. 'Then he turned on the other. He crucio'd him. He was only a child, he couldn't fight the crucio. 

'He killed them, Remus! It was a random attack, just because they were muggles, just because they couldn't fight back. And that's … And that's…' She couldn't continue, there were tears running thick and fast down her cheeks.

'And that's why you're fighting.' Remus finished for her. She nodded. 'Oh, Dora, why didn't you tell anyone? You lived with that for ten years, we could have helped you, got justice for the children.'

'Because it was too late! I was sixteen, who would believe a sixteen year old? No one wanted to believe His supporters were still killing like that. It was too late for those children. So I kept it inside, that's what got me through the rest of Hogwarts, and through Auror training. Knowing I could make sure that no more children were killed like that.' She said. 

Remus pulled her into his arms. Resting his cheek on top of her head, he said, 'As you already know, the days before a transformation, wildness can take over some werewolves. Not me, I'd never let that happen, but when they don't try to stop it, it's like torture. They have to kill, it becomes instinct. 

'When I was on my mission, trying to persuade the werewolves to fight for the light side, it was a few days before full moon, and I was on my last day before coming home. They brought out three children, muggles I assume, or muggle born. They killed them. No feeling, no remorse. I couldn't stop them. I tried, I tried so hard.' He told her, hugging her closer than before.

'Dora, I know how you felt then, and I know how you feel now. Helpless, like there isn't anything you can do. But you have a duty to protect this child now, our child.' He said firmly. He felt her nod weakly into his chest. 

The two stayed embracing, neither wanting to separate, to face the world that had already caused them so much pain. Strange, Remus thought, how someone can seem so strong and happy, yet have faced such horror. But then, maybe it was the innocence they were all fighting for, somewhere deep inside.

Remus slid his hand between the two of them and rested it lightly on Dora's still flat stomach. Yes. It was _this innocence they were fighting for now._


	6. Colin Creevey

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!_

_A/N: A bit of an odd one, Colin Creevey, from the eyes of his brother, Dennis._

Dennis looked down at the object in his hands. It was his camera. His brothers camera. Not horribly mangled or changed from the battle. He hadn't even meant to take it with him, Dennis didn't think. He'd rushed out immediately to fight after he got Neville's message. Dennis had wanted to go, too, but Colin wouldn't let him.

He learnt later that anyone underage had been escorted from the castle, for their own safety. Colin had been underage. He would have been seventeen in three months. He must have snuck back in. Stupid, brave courageous idiot. He could have come home. He could have returned to his brother: the person he called his best friend.

Dennis was the one who gave him the camera. His old one had been ruined by the Basilisk in his first year, and Dennis hadn't been able to afford to buy him a new one until Christmas his third year. Dennis was at Hogwarts by then, of course, and used the camera nearly as much as Colin. There was a small green burn in one corner. It looked like it had saved Colin's life at least once.

His passion saved his life. Twice physically, at least. More times mentally, Dennis suspected. Their mother had died in their fifth year. Whenever anyone brought it up, Colin would slink away to take pictures of anything and everything. It was his way of dealing with the grief.

Dennis had tried the same thing, but it didn't work the same way for him. He hadn't been able to see the field where his brother had died. Well, not exactly.

He knew he'd died outside, near the front entrance, Neville had carried him in, he knew. Of course, he'd seen the area in the years before the final battle. He was standing in the same spot now where his brother had been killed.

He had thought that maybe if he waited long enough in that spot, Colin might just wander out of the entrance hall, or Hagrid's hut, as he had done so many times before. 

He never did. 

He was _never coming back now. It had been a month since he had died. A month. This was the first time Dennis had come to see the spot. He hadn't been able to until them. The thought of seeing the spot had made him feel ill. Then, when his father had come, he had brought the camera home with him and given it to Dennis._

_He looked at the camera in his hands. It was a muggle one, so the pictures didn't move. They thought their father would appreciate that more than the typical wizarding, moving photos. Carefully, Dennis opened the bottom of the camera, and removed the film. It was very much intact._

_A single tear rolled down his cheek at the thought of these photographs, the last legacy of his beloved brother._

_---------------_

'_Alright you lot!' Professor Creevey called out to his year fifth class._

_He had successfully completed Hogwarts ten years ago, and had been working for the Quibbler since then. However, Professor Binns had decided that after so many years, he had finally had enough of teaching History of Magic, and had decided to haunt the library instead. So Dennis had accepted the position. _

_He had, however, dreaded this inevitable subject of the fifth year curriculum. The wars, and the final battle._

'_Class, we are taking a trip down to the memorial today, as I'd quite like a more fitting environment to conduct this lesson.' He flicked his wand at the door and opened it, so the class could file out._

_Some of the more inquisitive students had already identified Colin's name on the plaque, and spotted a link between the fallen war hero and the new professor._

'_Sir, are you related to this Creevey?' One of his Hufflepuff students asked._

'_I am indeed. Colin was my brother.' A series of shocked responses, as Dennis had expected, 'Now, I know some of you Gryffindors have been told about some of these people by Professor Longbottom, however, it is my job to teach you the honest story of what it was like. As I was not there myself, and none of those who were felt up to this, I am going to show you what it was like.'_

_His students were looking confused now. 'How can you show us if you weren't there, Professor?'_

'_Ah, my brother, as his peers would tell you, was never without his camera, and the final battle was no different. His camera was muggle, and the film was such that I able to get these images developed, however, as they are muggle, they do not move. These,' he said, handing out large photographs to the class, 'are my brothers story.'_

_Some of the images were at odd angles, and showed nothing more than confusion. Some of them showed dangerous duels. Some showed the fallen warriors, the injured being cared for, the dead being moved. The worst, however, showed a lingering green light, clearly making its way towards the camera._

'_Professor… I…are these real?' A student asked._

'_They are real. I am showing them to you for that very purpose. I believe my brother would have wanted his final legacy to be used and appreciated. He fought, after all, so that muggleborns like the two of us could continue to come to Hogwarts and to learn about the great highs and the great lows of this incredible world.' He bowed his head slightly._

'_I'd like a foot of parchment on these images, on what they portray and how they make you feel on my desk next Wednesday. Thank you class, you may leave now.'_

_Dennis smiled. Sharing his brothers final gift, the gift of truth, had been easier than he anticipated. It felt good to share what his brother had fought for with the world._


	7. Hestia Jones

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!_

_A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long to post. I've been revising pretty much solidly for my exams, and spent some of my evenings working on a fan fiction called 'Galleon', which is written in a similar format to Last of a Generation, except it focuses on Dumbledores Army. I'm really excited to post it, but sadly it isn't finished yet. So anyway, on to this chapter! It's Hestia Jones, and it's a bit of an odd one, again! I hope you like it!_

It had been a long year for Hestia Jones. She and Dedalus Diggle had been appointed to watch over Harry's Aunt, Uncle and Cousin. At first, Hestia and Dedalus had considered it an honour, making sure Harry's family, the people who had kept him alive for seven years, remained alive themselves.

Now, she couldn't help but feel like they'd drawn the short straws.

When they had collected the Dursleys from number four Privet Drive, Hestia had been angrier than anything else with the ignorance of Vernon (he had told the two of them to call him 'Mr Dursley', Petunia was to be addressed only as 'Mrs Dursley', and Dudley was to be called 'Master Dursley'. They had ignored him, of course), and the prejudice view of Petunia.

Now, she knew they were just foul. Hagrid had described them correctly: the biggest Muggles any of them had ever laid eyes on.

Vernon hadn't been allowed to go to work for any of the year. He mostly sat on the biggest single chair in the house, always either eating or complaining. Petunia hadn't been allowed to go out, not very often at least, so she mostly just spent her time in the garden, peering over the fences at the neighbours. She usually came back home and retold all of her sightings to anyone who would listen. Hestia usually just nodded politely. Dudley hadn't been allowed out much, either, but Hestia got the impression that this arrangement suited him just fine.

Dudley, she thought, had the potential to be a nice kid. Over fussed, over fed and spoilt, yes, but he wasn't as bad as she had first thought.

A bit dim, Hestia had concluded after a while. He was seventeen, and hadn't wanted a tutor to keep up with any school work. He mostly sat playing video games, at least that was all they had thought. Once, towards the end, she had ventured into his room to take him some tea, only to find him drawing. For a big, clumsy kid, he wasn't too bad. He had practically begged her not to say anything to his parents.

Dedalus had suggested they all go out, all under various concealment charms. Vernon had told him not to be such a bloody prat, his family didn't want to be involved with any of that funny stuff. Hestia didn't think it was worth telling him that his nephew was the saviour of the wizarding world, which meant his family was already _quite_ involved with 'that funny stuff'. Dudley had almost looked upset. Almost.

One of the things Hestia and Dedalus couldn't figure out, above all else, was how the Dursleys were related to the Potters. Hestia had briefly known Lily and James in their Hogwarts days, and Dedalus had known them from the first order. They were both charming people, and then there was Harry, who was entirely selfless. Opposite to the Dursleys in everyway, really. But then, Lily hadn't been close to Petunia when they were younger, either.

Frankly, Hestia could see why, having lived with them for a year.

One afternoon, Dedalus had walked into the room, announcing that his house had been destroyed by Death Eaters.

'Searched and burnt down, they think.' He had told them, surprisingly unsurprised. He actually seemed accepting about it. The Dursleys were surprised by his attitude. Hestia wasn't, she'd known Dedalus for long enough to know he was a fairly peculiar sort of man.

After that, the Vernon and Petunia had tried to distance themselves further from Hestia and Dedalus. They had soon found that was easier said than done, in the relatively small house they currently shared.

Dudley had asked if that was common in their world. They decided to take that as, 'I'm sorry about your house.'

It was not until a few months later that they received news of a final battle, raging on without them at Hogwarts. Hestia yarned to be there with them, fighting for what was right. Helping those who would be undoubtedly injured.

She twiddled her wand between her fingers. Sometimes she'd sit down, fidgeting, sometimes she'd stand up, pacing up and down the room.

'Hestia, sit down!' Dedalus said to her as he sat calmly. She'd just looked at him curiously. Even her, who had known Dedalus for years was not prepared for this piece of eccentricity.

After several hours, they had received the news it was over. Harry had won.

Hestia and Dedalus had linked hands and danced around the room whooping. Their dance was odd, a strange sort of jig. She was sure they looked ridiculous. It didn't matter, though. It was over, it was finally over.

The pain, the horror, the grief, the fighting. Over. Over!

'Dedalus, what casualties were there?' his face dropped slightly at her question, and she pressed on, 'Please, who? What happened?'

'Remus and Dora Lupin, Severus Snape, he was on our side all the time, you know, and Fred Weasley,' he replied, sadly.

'Oh dear Merlin! Why weren't we there, Dedalus? Maybe we could have done something?! We didn't fight!' Hestia sobbed.

'We did fight, in our own special way! Imagine if we hadn't looked after Harry's family, they'd have been captured, Harry would have come to save them and he would probably have been killed. Then, my dear Hestia, You-Know-Who would have won.' Dedalus said to the sobbing Hestia.

'You know, you're right. We fought for the same reason as everyone else, didn't we? So Harry could win. We just fought in a different way.' She said. Dedalus nodded.

A few days later, the Order had deemed it safe for the Dursleys to go home.

Vernon had walked straight past them, pulling his family's cases clumsily out of the door.

Petunia twitched her long neck in a strange sort of way, which Hestia decided to take as a nod of thank you.

Dudley, however, on his way out of the door, stopped in front of them. He stuck his hand out, and retracted it several times, before grabbing Dedalus's hand, and then Hestia's hand in turn. 'Um…thanks, I guess.' he said. Petunia grabbed him into a hug, kissing his fat cheeks, saying what a good boy he was for saying thank you, almost like she had done when Dudley had spoken to Harry for the last time.

But it was more than that, Hestia knew. He was thanking them for keeping them safe. He was thanking his cousin. He was thanking magic as a whole. He was still ignorant of what had happened, of course, but he had thanked them for it.

This? Hestia thought as the Dursleys exited the house for the first time, headed into a world that was safe. Is this what I fought for?

Hestia didn't know, but she suspected it was not a completely terrible thing to have fought for.


	8. Luna Scamander

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: Okay, I should really be doing last minute revising for my maths exam in two hours. Instead, I wrote about Luna, which seems fair, I think. Luna is an odd one, and I'm never sure if I managed to stay in character, but I like this nonetheless._

'Luna, love, what's this?' Rolf Scamander called to his wife.

She wondered over to where he was couching on the ground. She put her hand gently on top of his hair, lightly caressing his brown waves. She peered through her own hair, held back slightly by her wand, that was currently tucked behind her left ear.

'It looks like Mooncalf tracks, doesn't it?' She said, her grey eyes not really focusing on what he was showing her.

'Yes, yes, I know that, love, look higher, by the bushes!!' he said, his usually reflective voice sounded strangely excited.

'Oh my goodness! Rolf … Rolf, is it…? It is, isn't it!' Luna jumped up, beaming. This was her hour, Looney Lovegood, not so strange after all. Her and Rolf had identified many new creatures over the past few years, but none had meant so much to Luna as finally uncovering this discovery. Rolf just nodded at her, understanding what his meant to her.

'Oh Rolf, immobilise them, we need to identify them, just in case they aren't what we think.'

Seconds later, Rolf and Luna were rushing back to their house. It was an odd house, just like the one Luna had grown up in. It was a huge black triangle, that stood out on the horizon, bolder than anything for miles. Several smaller triangles stuck out at odd angles from the sides, extra rooms they had needed recently.

Four months ago, Luna had given birth to their twins, Lorcan Newt and Lysander Xenophilius, and their little house hadn't been big enough anymore. Both of the children already had white blonde, wavy hair, and watery blue eyes. All the looks of their father, but the colouring of their mother.

They were at Luna's fathers house, who already heavily doted upon them. He had happily agreed to take them for the afternoon, so that Luna and Rolf could inspect some odd looking Mooncalf tracks a few miles away.

'Luna, I think this is it! I've never seen anything else quite like it, and it's not in any of my books as identified,' Rolf said, flicking through some of his nature books.

Luna looked down at the thing that was currently immobilised on the table. It was very small, about the size of a five pence piece, with light yellow fur. It had a vacant look in its bottle green eyes, and it's wings were held mid flutter by Rolf's spell.

They had only managed to get one back up to the house, but in the bush there must have been a swarm of at least fifteen of them. They still didn't know their habits, or feeding patterns, but it didn't matter. Luna could see one of them vividly, and that was enough.

Luna had found her Nargle. They had done it, her and Rolf, they had shown that Luna wasn't Looney. That her beliefs hadn't been unfounded.

We discovered this, we did it! Luna thought, I fought for this, I think, I fought for my Nargle!

* * *

A few months later, Luna looked out the window as she sat in the twins bedroom. Lysander was snuggled into her arms, as she watched Rolf and his brother sleeping soundly, Rolf holding Lorcan in his arms in one of the beanbags. She kissed the top of Lysander's head, careful not to wake him.

A silvery patronus flew gracefully through the open window. It was a stag, Harry's patronus. She read it's silent message.

_Luna, _

_Ginny had baby two hours ago, a little girl. _

_Can you come to Mungo's, as soon as possible?_

_Thank you, Harry!_

Luna gasped in delight, a baby girl, the same age as Lorcan and Lysander, just a few months younger. They'd be in the same school year, only by a few days though, Luna quickly deducted.

She placed Lysander in his crib, and left a note for Rolf. She slipped out of the house unheard, and apparated to the hospital.

She was met immediately with all of the Weasleys, and a grinning Harry Potter, who was hugging James Sirius and Albus Severus. He put down his boys when he saw her, and swept her into a friendly embrace.

'Luna! You're here! Gin wants to see you, her and the baby are through there.' Harry said, smiling.

'Aren't you coming too?' Luna asked, tucking her wand back behind her left ear.

'No, we decided Ginny should speak to you on her own.' Harry said, ushering her through the door.

Ginny was lying on the bed, looking extremely exhausted, a tiny baby with light red hair and a sprinkling of freckles tucked securely into her arms.

'Ginny! She's beautiful!' Luna said, her eyes dreamy, 'I bet she'll be just like you. She has your eyes, you know.'

'Oh Luna, you cant tell that already, she's only a few hours old!' Ginny smiled at her friend.

'She'll have your eyes one day, Ginny, I know she will!' Luna said honestly. Ginny nodded her head.

'I hope she does, James and Al both have Harry's eyes. Anyway, do you want to hold her?' Ginny asked.

'Oh yes please!' Luna smiled as the baby fitted into her arms in the same place as her own child had been an hour before, 'She's so little, I don't even know what to say! The hospital doesn't have a Wrackspurt infestation does it?'

'No, I don't think it does,' Ginny replied, not mocking her friends odd beliefs. People tended to mock Luna at lot less since her and Rolf had proved the existence of Nargles. 'She's six pounds exactly. Do you want to know her name?'

Luna nodded.

'It's Lily. Lily Luna Potter.' Ginny looked at her, waiting for her reaction.

Luna looked up in surprise, 'You named her after me? Why?'

'Because you're our friend Luna, and because you're the most incredible person that Harry and I know! We hope our little Lily is just like you, you know.' Ginny said, putting a reassuring hand on Luna's arm.

'Thank you, Ginny,' Luna smiled, her voice was momentarily less dreamy than usual, before her eyes clouded over again. 'Oh! I brought her a present!'

She pulled a two tiny objects out of her robes, and flicked her want at them. They both grew in size, and Ginny could see that they were cuddly toys. One was pale yellow, with big green eyes, and wings that fluttered realistically. A Nargle, Ginny knew immediately. The other toy looked like a radish, the same as Luna wore in her ears. A Dirigible Plum, Luna had told her friends plenty of times that the plums enhanced the ability to accept the extraordinary.

The two friends smiled warmly at each other, the depth and meaning of Luna's gifts was obvious.

Yes, I think this might be what I fought for, Luna thought, all of my discoveries mean nothing compared to this. I have friends, and I am myself.

Wit Beyond Measure, Rowena? Luna thought. No, _Love_ beyond measure, truely is man's greatest treasure.


	9. Neville Longbottom

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: This one really has been a long time coming. Sorry for the long Christmas bit, it doesn't have much relevance, just a nice starting point. I don't know what possessed me to write about Christmas in June, but hey-ho! What a nutter. I'm a Disney geek, utterly and completely. And proud of it!!  
__Thank-you's: A Catholic Girl, to whom Alice Pomona Longbottom belongs. Hondagirl, because some of the ideas in this were suggested to me by her. Thank you!_

This was Neville's favourite time of the year, by far. Christmas time.

It hadn't always been that way. When he was younger, he dreaded it. Before Hogwarts, he hadn't really noticed it as anything special, like other children did. On Christmas day, they'd visit is parents in the morning, but Neville hadn't really understood that, either. They weren't his parents, they couldn't be. Frank was just a man who didn't wake up very often, who his Gran cried over. Alice wasn't like a mother, she was a stranger who gave him sweet wrappers. They didn't recognize him, either. Neville sat quietly by Alice for a few hours while his Gran spoke to Frank, then they went home again, and saw the rest of his family.

It was usually just Neville, his Gran, his Great Uncle Algae and his Great Auntie Enid for the rest of the day. They gave him presents. They usually weren't very good presents, because they'd thought he was a squib for years. His best Christmas present as a young child was a book of fairy tales, The Tales of Beadle the Bard.

When he started Hogwarts, people started getting excited about Christmas around November, talking about what they were asking for with their friends. Neville didn't really get excited until he saw the decorations, in December. They were vivid scarlets and bright greens. Numerous Christmas tree's were placed everywhere. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. At home, they'd only had one little tree, usually very poorly decorated.

His Gran wouldn't let him stay there. He'd thought it might be more exciting if he was around the light and the brightness and the _real_ Christmas spirit he might enjoy it more. But he'd gone back to Gran's house. They'd visited his parents. He'd wanted to talk to them this year, just in case they could hear him. He'd wanted to tell them all about Hogwarts and the boys in his dormitory, and about the wonderful decorations, but when he'd got there, the words wouldn't come. He just sat and held Alice's hand.

Things had gotten during his sixth year, when he'd had real friends for the first time. He was friends with Luna, Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Ron. Luna and Ginny, especially. They'd exchanged cards, and for the first time in his life, Neville had proper Christmas presents. That year, he'd gone home, at his Gran's request. That year, he had spoken to his parents. He told them everything, his school and his friends, the DA, too, but only after he'd made sure his Gran wouldn't hear.

Christmas in his Seventh year had been strange. People were leaving school, and joining him in the Room of Requirement all the time. Luna had gone home, and Ginny, and he doubted if either of them would return. Neville couldn't go to his Gran, or to visit his parents this year. He had sat alone in the corner of the room, on his hammock, stroking Trevor. The others who hadn't been able to go home were drifting around the room, which they had decorated brightly.

The Christmases after the war were different from anything Neville had ever known. Sometimes they were spent at home with his Gran, visiting the hospital and his friends. One year, he was even away on a mission, and Harry, Ron and he had been forced to find alternative ways to enjoy it. The Christmases after that he had spent with Hannah, the woman who became his wife. They visited his parents in the morning, and spent the rest of the day with Neville's Gran and Hannah's dad.

The most recent Christmases, the past eleven, to be precise, had been spent with his wife, Hannah, and their children. Their children were, this year, home from Hogwarts, the same as he was. Alice Pomona was fourteen, a Gryffindor in her fourth year, Frank Colin Longbottom, better known as Frankie, was a proud Hufflepuff in his first year, both were back from Hogwarts for Christmas. His youngest daughter, Daisy Ginerva, was only seven, and still had five years with her Mother at the pub.

Neville himself had returned from Hogwarts for Christmas. He had been the Herbology Professor for nearing five years. As much as he loved his job, he loved Christmas with his family more. Hogwarts was far better with his son there, as well as his oldest daughter. He missed Hannah and Daisy everyday.

It was about a week from Christmas, and Hannah, Alice and Frankie were downstairs manning the pub. The Leaky Cauldron had got much more popular since Hannah had taken over as Landlady, about six years ago, and Christmas was always a busy time of year. They had moved from Godric's Hollow to London, to the flat above the pub, and neither Hannah nor Neville, nor any of the children, had ever been happier.

'Daddy? Can you come and sit with me? Please, Daddy, I'm scared!' Daisy called to him from the living room. The living room was unrecognizable this time of year. Neville always went over the top with the decorations, making up for what he hadn't had as a child.

'Of course, darling,' Neville said, sitting on the sofa beside her. He put his arm around her and she snuggled her face into his shoulder. He smoothed down her long, dirty-blonde hair and made soothing noises in her ear.

Daisy was seven, usually happy and smiling. She had a habit of conjuring up flowers from no where, and giving them to strangers in the street. Neville would be surprised if she wasn't in Hufflepuff. But then, Neville knew better than to assume as far as Hogwarts houses went.

He had been surprised right at the start, when the house had put him in Gryffindor. Even at the end of his first year, when Professor Dumbledore had said that he _was_ courageous, Neville didn't think he was. But then, in his sixth and seventh years, when other people had started saying how brave he was, Neville didn't think so. Some people even called him a hero. Those people, Neville laughed at. He certainly wasn't a hero. He was just doing what Harry had told him to do. He was just doing what was _right_. What anyone would have done in his position.

But then, Neville thought, maybe that's what true courage really is.

His daughter was watching The Little Mermaid again. Sometimes it seemed like all she did was watch Disney films, and this one was currently her favourite.

'Silly Daisy, why do you watch this if it scares you?' he smiled at her.

'Because Flounder is my favourite!' She said, her face still buried in his shoulder. She peeked her face out, 'Daddy, Ursula is the worst witch in the world, isn't she?'

Neville thought about her question. He remembered Bellatrix Lestrange. The witch who had tortured his parents to insanity. The witch who had tortured Hermione, who had nearly killed Ginny and Luna. The witch who had killed countless people, who had ripped apart dozens of families.

'Yes, Darling. Yes, she is the worst witch in the world, but don't worry, she wont hurt you,' Neville said, smiling as he thought of all of the horrors that his precious baby wouldn't have to face. He whispered so quietly that Daisy couldn't hear him, 'I wouldn't ever let her hurt you.'

Neville wrapped his other arm around his daughter. He couldn't help but smile again. These were the greatest foes his daughter would have to face, the ones in the Disney films, and in her imagination.

Yes, Neville thought, this is what I fought for. A world where the worst witch's aren't real, and the only person I have to be a hero for is my daughter.


	10. Albus Dumbledore

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: I'm writing another short story, Galleons, as I mentioned before, and it's taking me longer than anticipated. I'm hoping to get it up perfect, but I need some help with it. I don't know what I need to do this, is it a beta? Because I've never needed help on one of these before, but whatever someone can offer would be brilliant!  
__A/N: Albus Dumbledore. How do you sum up what that man fought for? It cant be done, I know that full well. So, here is my feeble attempt to do the impossible. I hope it is fairly realistic. Oh, and I'm sorry that this chapter, too, is without the final, 'What I Fought For' line, but I couldn't make that work in here. Sort of everything Albus is saying fits into why he fought._

'Professor, I'm sorry, but there's one more thing I don't understand,' Harry said, slightly cautiously.

Albus found it odd that after all they had been through, both together and apart, that Harry would be nervous about asking him anything. There were no secrets anymore.

'Of course, Harry. What would you like to know?' he replied, gazing at the young man in front of him. He remembered so well taking that tiny, black haired baby to his muggle Aunts house. He remembered seeing him again for the first time in his first year, that skinny little boy, with anxious eyes, so full of wonderment. He was a different man now, as he stood in front of him. It was nothing short of a miracle that the wonder was not gone from his green eyes.

'You must have had the Resurrection Stone before you died, why did you give it to me, and not use it for yourself? You could have seen your sister and your parents!' Harry forced out his words all at once, like if he hadn't said them so quickly, he wouldn't have been able to say them at all.

'Harry, how is it that you have the courage to overcome an extremely dangerous dark wizard, and yet you can not ask me such a seemingly simple question?' Albus smiled slightly.

'I didn't have any respect for him, Professor.' Harry said, honestly.

'Thank you, Harry, but I don't need to tell you that there are people far more deserving for your respect than me,' he replied, shooting a small glance over to the portrait of Severus Snape, Harry nodded slightly, so Albus continued speaking, 'I will, however, answer your question, Harry, out of _my_ respect for _you_.'

Albus glanced quickly over his old office. Severus and Minerva had changed very little in their respective times as Head of Hogwarts. Minerva was, of course, still holding the position, and doing an excellent job, he thought.

'Well, Harry, I don't need to tell you of my adolescence, or my family, as I trust you remember that. There is one thing I must tell you, though I suspect you already know. I do not see myself receiving socks when I look into the Mirror Erised. I see my family, restored and loving again, similar, perhaps, to that image you first saw in the mirror, all those years ago.

'When my mother died, my brother and I were left to care for our sister, a responsibility I took very lightly, I am ashamed to say. My sisters death was accidental, but that did not stop Aberforth and I blaming ourselves. After that, I did not try to find glory, as Ms Skeeter seemed to believe. I did only what I could to ease my conscience and to soften my guilt. It did not work, and it has not worked for all these years.

'Not using the stone was, I believe, one of my greatest accomplishments. You are correct, I could have seen my mother and my sister. However, as you well know, Harry, the stone shows us only shadows of people. But, as you also know, when we depart on the next great adventure, we see those people again. Only, we see them truly in death, just like you saw me at Kings Cross station.

'I thought that if I helped rid the world of Lord Voldemort, I was clearing my other sins and erasing my guilt. I knew that if I could help you to complete your task, I would be worthy in my _own_ eyes to see my family again.

'And that is the real reason I did not use to stone. I did not deem myself _worthy_ to do it. When Professor Snape fulfilled my wishes, I knew I could die the honest death, and then be justly be able to see them again.' Albus finished, tears working their way past his half moon glasses and down his nose.

'And did it work, Professor? Are you with them now?' Harry asked, hopefully.

'Ah, Harry, I can not tell you that, I'm afraid.' Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Albus spoke again, ' I can not tell you, because I do not know. A portrait is, you see, nothing more than the essence of a person, a shadow of them when they lived, if you like. I can speak to you only of what I knew before my death, not after. I know no more than you do about what lies beyond. Although, I do hope I am with them now. It is, after all, what I fought for, to see them again and to be forgiven'

Harry nodded, and turned to leave. 'Thank you, Professor. I hope you get what you fought for.'


	11. Bellatrix Lestrange

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!_

_A/N: Sorry this has been so slow, I've been focusing on my exams and on my original writing. This one is a bit different, a bit darker, but Bellatrix is my favourite character, so I had to include at least a short chapter for her! Sorry it isn't fantastic, I have some bad writer's block, as far as fan fiction is concerned._

They had caught Ted Tonks fairly late on. He'd done a surprisingly good job of avoiding them for so long. The Snatchers brought him to her immediately, as she had previously requested. They knew better than to argue with her.

After all, she was Bellatrix Lestrange. True, pure blood royalty. Feared by all.

He was thrown down in front of her, bound by invisible ropes. She looked at him. He was middle aged, with brown hair, flecked with grey. His eyes were dull, tears leaked from the corners. Clearly he was no idiot. He knew this was the name.

'Ted Tonks. It really is _delightful_ to finally meet you,' she drawled, her velvet voice was laced with bitter contempt, 'and under such pleasant circumstances, too.'

'Bellatrix, you broke her heart,' Ted replied, not looking into her eyes, 'you don't know what you did to her, you… you bitch!'

Bellatrix laughed casually. He was trying to sound menacing. He was failing.

'No, my _dear_ Teddy. I did _nothing_ to her. She made her choice, you over our families honourable traditions,' she spat at him, 'and right now, I haven't got the faintest idea why.'

The man that was knelt before her had been responsible for almost destroyed her family. For years, they had been barely respected. _Two_ blood traitors, within years of each other. Even their pureblood status, previously like royalty, was barely enough to save them. The marriages of Narcissa and herself to highly respectable pureblood wizards had given the Black family back some of the respect they deserved.

When Bellatrix had become a death eater, the Dark Lord had expected big and horrible things of her, and she had not disappointed him. Then people _really_ respected her.

She had always saved a special contempt for Ted Tonks.

She pointed her wand at him, and whispered, 'Crucio.' That simple word cut through Ted like venom. This awful woman was related to his darling wife.

She stopped the torture for a moment. 'Any last words, my _precious_ brother-in-law?' She hissed, truly sounding like the Slytherin snake she was.

'Just one,' he said weakly, 'Why? She's still your sister, don't you understand that by hurting me, your hurting her?'

She laughed her cruel, razor-sharp laugh. 'You filthy Mudblood, you just don't understand, do you? I'm fighting bastards like you. Muggles, Mudbloods, Blood traitors. Dirty, filthy, bastards! Once, the wizarding world was pure, we _deserved_ to be here. Now, the elite must fight to regain the purity! As for Andromeda, she knew what she was doing. She deserves this as much as you do!'

She spat on the floor beside him. 'Goodbye, Ted Tonks.' She said, heartlessly. 'Avada Kedavra!'

Ted Tonks moved no more. His body was splayed on the floor. She didn't even look at him as she walked past.

Yes, Bellatrix smiled, Her Dark Lord would be happy with her work. Ted Tonks was nothing more than a filthy Mudblood. And after all, that's what she was fighting for. Getting rid of dirty blooded fools like Ted Tonks, and to teach blood traitors, like her sister, that pure blood status was the only important thing. To show herself worthy of Her Dark Lord.

She spat on the floor again. She was damned if her family were going to be ruined by that filth.


	12. Molly Weasley

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: This has been a long time coming (sorry about that!) but here it is: Molly Weasley._

'Attention please!' Molly Weasley called out over the room.

The kitchen hadn't changed a great deal. Molly had found she didn't like change so much after the war had finally finished. The price paid had been high, too high, she found herself thinking at times. But it was times like this, when her family were together, in one place, happy, that she realised Fred and the others would think it was a small price to pay.

More chairs had been added, but other than that, things were the same. Bill was engaged in a conversation about which seemed insignificant to Molly, but was something Charlie, who was back from Romania for a visit, was completely absorbed by. George and Harry were teasing Ron about the latest Quidditch results, which had left Ron's beloved Cannons at the bottom of the league. Ginny and Angelina were fussing over Fleur, who was seven months pregnant, and bigger than Molly ever remembered being at that stage. Arthur was questioning Hermione about what it was like to have photographs which didn't move.

'SILENCE PLEASE!' Molly yelled. Immediate silence follow. She cleared her throat and smiled. 'Thank you. Now, as you know, Percy should arrive in a few minutes, and I have a last minute instruction for you. Please make her feel welcome. He says there's something different about her-'

'Probably a troll or something.' Charlie said snorting. George went to high five his brother over his remark, but Molly shot him one of her famous Weasley glares.

'That'd still be better than you've brought home Charlie Weasley!' She scolded.

Everyone laughed at that. Charlie's ears turned red.

'Anyway, as I was saying-' Molly sighed as she was interrupted again. The door clicked open.

'It wasn't as far as I thought it was going to be, Perce!' A soft, feminine voice said from the hall.

'No, I expected it'd be a longer journey, but I don't usually drive down.' Percy replied. He sounded happy. He called out to them. 'Mum? Dad?'

'In the kitchen Percy dear!' Molly called.

Seconds later, the door was pushed open. Percy was standing there, looking just like he always had. Smart robes, glasses slightly askew, hair a shade darker than most of the living Weasleys. Actually, Molly had always thought it was the exact shade her brother's hair had been.

The girl with him was smaller than any of the other Weasley women, with the possible exception of Molly. She wasn't at all troll like, much to the apparent annoyance of his brothers. In fact, she was rather pretty. She had wispy golden hair, plump cheeks and an English rose complexion. Brown eyes were warm behind her emerald, square rimmed glasses. She smiled nervously and raised her hand slightly in a small wave.

Molly jumped up the moment she saw them, and pulled Percy into a crushing embrace. He patted her back awkwardly. She pulled back and put her hands on her hips. She looked at him expectantly.

'Oh,' he said, pulling the girl around from behind him. He held her hand firmly. 'Everyone, this is Audrey. Audrey, this is, well, everyone.'

'Hello,' she smiled, 'lovely to meet you all.'

'Welcome to the Burrow, Audrey dear!' Molly hugged her warmly too. 'Take a seat, would you like some tea? Cake? Biscuits?'

'Some tea would be lovely thank you Mrs Weasley, a lot of milk and two sugars please.' Audrey said politely. Percy took the seat beside her, still holding her hand.

'Call me Molly, sweetie.' She replied, setting two cups down in front of the newcomers. 'Percy really didn't give us much of an introduction, did he? Well, I'm Molly, Percy's mother, Arthur, his father, that's Bill, Charlie, George and Ronald, his brothers, that's Ginny, his sister, and Harry, Fleur, Angelina and Hermione.'

'Yes, I think I might briefly have met Hermione before,' Audrey replied, studying Hermione's face.

'Really?' Hermione replied, seeming somewhat shocked.

'Yes, have you ever been into Godiva Books? It's the bookshop I own.'

Hermione nodded excitedly. 'Well, that'll explain where you've seen Hermione before then.' Ron laughed, looking at Hermione lovingly.

'So, onto the important stuff, what house were you and what year did you finish? I don't recognize you from Hogwarts?' George asked, clearly trying to find something to make a joke about. Everyone around the table was now listening interestedly.

Audrey looked at Percy anxiously. He squeezed her hand encouragingly. 'Actually, Audrey didn't go to Hogwarts.'

'Mais oui?' Fleur exclaimed, 'Beauxbatons?'

'No, not that either.' Percy shook his head again.

'Durmstrang?!' Charlie questioned, finally getting over his shock at Percy's girlfriend not being at all Troll like.

'Oh, Charlie no! Cut her some slack!' Ginny said, slapping her brother lightly around the back of the head.

'Well, the thing is,' Percy said, drawing in a breath, 'Audrey's a muggle.'

Much to Percy's relief, his family didn't look disappointed, just surprised. And then George laughed, breaking the momentary silence. 'Well, I suppose that explains why she didn't fall over in shock at seeing Harry, Ronniekins or Hermione.'

Audrey was whisked away by Arthur and Hermione after not much more conversation. Arthur wanted to talk to her about muggle things like plug sockets and televisions. Hermione wanted to talk to her about her bookshop.

Percy followed his mother over to the sink. He flicked his wand lazily at the pile of wet washing up, and set it to dry itself.

'Mum?' Percy looked nervous, like he was a child again, 'Am I making the right choice?'

'Bringing her to meet us? Yes of course you are.' Molly replied, not paying much attention.

'No, am I making the right choice being with her?' He said, looking over his shoulder at her. She had immediately fit into his family. 'I love her, but-'

'Percival Weasley!' Molly fixed him with a certain stare. 'Is is because she's a muggle?'

'Yes, but-'

'You can't think about not being with the woman you love just because she's different! I brought you up better than that!'

'I don't want her to get hurt!' Percy interrupted her before she could tell him off further.

'Oh. Why would you do that?' Usually Molly was a wise mother, she didn't need her children to explain things to her. This was not one of those occasions.

'If there's another war, she'd get hurt…' Percy looked oddly forlorn. Molly sucked in a deep breath. That she was not expecting.

'_If_ was another war, which there _wont_ be, we'll all fight to keep her save. She's a lovely girl, and the very reason I fought the first war was so my children could be happy with the people they love. And if you love her, Percy, don't let anything stop you.'

Percy hugged her. She just smiled as he walked back to Audrey and wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. After all, this was what she'd fought for.


	13. Blaise Zabini

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
__A/N: Sorry I haven't updated this for SO long! I've really missed it! And sorry if this goes against canon, but I really quite like it. Plus I actually cried when I was writing bits of this, which is so very strange for me. I hope this is clear and that it fits in with ths story, and I hope you like it._

Blaise Zabini looks around the hall. It is ruined. The house point counters have been smashed and the coloured gems are scattered across the floor. _Maybe that is a good thing,_ he thinks,_ there can be no prejudice when all the houses are mingled_.

Blaise wraps his long arms around himself, trying feebly to keep his shivering at bay. There is a bruise forming under his eye, blood has soaked his shirt from a nasty cut and he knows he'll probably never walk the same again. But it doesn't matter about any of that.

Because from the moment when he decided to go against his house and his family and his heritage and fight against You-Know-Who instead of with him, the world as he had known it was pulled apart from the seams. It had somehow hurt both more and less than he had anticipated.

He had been expected the last year to be horrific. As it was there was no part of his imagination that had dreamt up anything close. He had managed to skim over it, keep his head down. His work had improved. Looking back, he thought that maybe his house had scored him more points than his abilities. He not managed long with that theory. He'd happened upon a first year Hufflepuff being tortured by Gregory Goyle for something so miniscule, and he had simply snapped. Goyle hasn't been quite the same since and neither has Blaise.

Whenever he had heard of or seen a similar thing happening he had stopped it if he could and taken the student to Ginny Weasley, or Neville Longbottom to check they were okay. He never was good with younger students, and it probably didn't help that no matter what he did, the green serpent logo on his robe stopped them from trusting him. He can't help but let him upset, just the smallest amount.

His emotions run deep, but he has never let anyone know that. All of the DA (yes he knows, Neville let slip as he offered to take him in with them, but Blaise had politely refused, stating the students needed him in the castle. He was actually terrified of making friends with people as brave as them) know him because of it, and they had nodded and smiled and made forced small talk when there was no one else around.

He thinks that they believe him to be no more to them than the silent type, not brave enough to go against the Darkness publicly, probably a little bit dim. They always seem to look at him differently to the other people he knows. It makes him feel uncomfortable. It never once occurs to him that they are all in awe of his silent courage, because his battle is different to theirs, but it is a battle nonetheless and he is still the most valiant and noble Slytherin they know.

None of them seem really surprised when he stays back to fight along side them. His house had been astonished, it was written obviously on their faces, but he had sworn loudly at them to join him for what was right. It was around that time that Pansy had screamed for Harry Potter to give himself up. She was terrified and he knows he will probably never forgive her completely, but he has tried to start already. A very minute scattering of Slytherins have also stayed to fight against the Darkness, but they are gone when the battle is over, as ashamed as he is. Except he is ashamed for different reasons, he thinks. He is ashamed that more of his house didn't stay, that more of them didn't revolt, or want to revolt as he did. He hasn't ever thought that Slytherin's were all bad, it was just the rest of the world seemed to think so. He won't be able to convince them, because he's having enough trouble convincing himself anymore.

He doesn't leave immediately. He wants to see the destruction that he will help to clear as soon as he is required.

Some students from the other houses are grouped together, sitting close to the bodies of the ones they lost. Neville looks around and, seeing him, gestures for him to sit when them. He still doesn't feel like he belongs with them, so he shakes his head and turns to leave, whisking himself out of the place. He doesn't want to be around the bodies anymore. His companions, his peers, his _friends_ had helped put those bodies there and he feels like they look worse to him than anyone else.

There are some more students, who he doesn't know, hugging and sitting and standing in the Entrance Hall and on the steps into the Castle. One of them sees him. He doesn't recognize her, she is not part of the DA, but she recognizes him. It might be because she has seen him with his old _friends_ over the years. Or maybe it is because of the green in his ruined tie. She knows he is a Slytherin. A sob rips from her small form, and an older man rests a hand on his shoulder and requests that he leaves.

He isn't offended and he isn't upset. He'd cry to, if he was someone else seeing a Slytherin again so soon. She doesn't know that he isn't like most of the others and neither does the man who asked him to leave. He does go. The Slytherins have already caused far too much pain without him causing anymore.

* * *

The fifth year after Hogwarts has reopened, Blaise finally goes back to the school he once called home. It isn't how he remembered it, but maybe it will always be a bit of a little sadder and more sorry place for him now.

Those who were second years when he was in that awful final year are now seventh years. They haven't forgotten, but they have healed as well as they could. The teachers are more melancholy too and they all look decades older. They look how he feels. After all, they have not lost everything as he has. He has lost his family, his friends, his home, his fortune.

Sure, he has gained other friends. Neville Longbottom writes regularly, as do some of the others. They are nicer than most people he has ever known. He feels safe with them, mostly - he doesn't know if he will ever feel completely secure, there is just too much that he cannot put into words. There are looks that get thrown, and comments quieter than they can hear from people of different parties when he goes out with them. Sometimes his friends will hear what is being said and they stand up for him, every time. And every time he mumbles his embarrassed thanks.

Slughorn has decided that he doesn't want to be the Potions professor anymore, so Blaise asks for the job. Professor McGonagall looks slightly bemused at first, and then worried. And then she accepts him.

Just because you were Slytherin, she tells him, doesn't mean you aren't a good man, we just don't have many Slytherin staff.

The truth is, that without Slughorn, they have _no_ Slytherin staff. So he volunteers to be head of Slytherin, too. He doesn't really know what the job entails or whether he needs extra qualifications, or even more experience than he has. He just knows that he wants to do this, wants to start to make his house a _good_ house again.

He gets both jobs.

He knows things may never be the same again, secretly he hopes they won't be, as long as the change is for the best. He knows things might not be repaired during his lifetime, but he has fought in the past and will continue to fight to make sure that, at any point in the future, there is _no_ prejudice and _no_ discrimination amongst houses. He fought in the past to show that there is some goodness in Slytherin house and he thinks that he might finally be showing that to be true.


End file.
